Our Father, Who Art
by RCB
Summary: A follow up to How Winchesters Say 'I Love You'. Spoilers through 4.10, beta provided by the lovely mrstotten. Explores Castiel a bit more. No pairing, brief mention of sex. Disclaimer: I own nothing except this laptop.


Our Father, Who Art…

"Castiel, are you listening?" Uriel demanded.

Castiel sighed, realizing he would never get the peace needed to continue his prayer time until he dealt with this. "Yes," he answered.

"We have been unable to find Anael," Uriel went on. Since they had returned, Uriel had been concerned with tracking down Anna, determined to hand down her sentence personally.

"She is of little importance now," Castiel told him, "focus your attentions elsewhere."

"She is…" Uriel began to argue, and Castiel decided, well he'd really had _enough_

"Question me **again** and you will have higher concerns than _Anael's_ punishment," Castiel warned him and Uriel blanched.

Castiel stared at him coldly until Uriel gave him a single nod and retreated.

Finally free of Uriel's pestering, Castiel went back to his new past time.

Ever since he'd seen the brothers tasting snowflakes, he had been fascinated by the concept of taste. He desperately had wanted to ask them what it was like, and almost had once. He had refrained at the last minute, reluctant to interrupt the first moment of peace they'd had in a long time. Instead, he had remained on the sidelines, brow furrowed at his inability to understand.

He wondered, briefly, if his brow was going to stay like that permanently. Since again, he was struggling to understand the scene before him.

"Hey Mabel, I'll take another piece of this cherry pie," Dean called over to the waitress; she smiled, and hurried to comply with Dean's request.

When she came back, the coveted confection on a small plate, she also refilled Dean's coffee. Castiel watched as Dean sunk his fork into the flaky layers and thick, chunky, dark red filling. He raised the fork to his mouth, lips closing around the stainless steel briefly, before pulling it back out, clean and shiny again.

Dean's face contorted a bit; lids closing briefly, jaws working slowly as he chewed and swallowed his unnecessary nourishment. He'd already eaten what was required to survive, yet he had ordered the cherry pie not once, but twice now. It wasn't even very beneficial to his collective organs or tissue, mostly fat and sugar. If anything, the sugar was detrimental to him, and Castiel tried to fathom the significance of this superfluous addition to Dean's meal. He tried to imagine what it tasted like; what it was to experience taste.

He was most frustrated that he couldn't figure it out.

____________________________________________________________________

"Dude, I gotta take a piss." Dean informed Sam, pulling over to the side of the road.

He parked the car, getting out quickly, and sought the cover of some bushes and trees. Nudity had been ingrained on the humans as something to be ashamed of; it was necessary to combat the inherent lust of mankind, and helped maintain reasonable population control. It was a wise decision, in Castiel's opinion. Though, his Father had never had an idea that Castiel had thought unwise. That was impossible.

Dean unzipped his jeans, the sound unnaturally loud in the previously quiet, peaceful surroundings. Relieving one's bladder was a necessary function of the human's anatomy; Castiel knew this. However, Dean seemed to be enjoying the act profusely; he even made small patterns on the bark of the tree that he's chosen for the event.

"Ahh…" Dean hissed contentedly under his breath.

There seemed to be no end to the stream, and Castiel wondered what it had felt like to have waited so long before taking care of it. Was it painful? Was that why he seemed to be happy now? He tried to imagine pain, followed by relief, but found that he could not.

Why make patterns? Circles, a criss cross. Was Dean attempting to make a high cross to show glory and thanksgiving to the Father? Given Dean's usual attitude, that explanation seemed unlikely, so Castiel hypothesized some more until Dean was finally finished. Despite his best efforts, none of the ideas that flashed through his mind could explain Dean's obvious pleasure at this task.

Once again, Castiel became frustrated at his inability to understand.  
____________________________________________________________________

"I can't believe you ate the last doughnut." Dean complained bitterly, halfway to Nevada.

"I didn't eat the last doughnut." Sam stated again, trying his best to keep his voice neutral.

"You could admit it at least," Dean argued.

"Dammit, Dean! I didn't eat the last **freaking** doughnut!" Sam yelled, unable to contain his anger at being wrongfully accused any longer.

"Only you and me here, Sam!" Dean yelled back.

Castiel left quickly, carrying with him a strange feeling. He examined it carefully and was surprised to discover that it was shame. It had only been one small taste, and once he'd discovered that there was no taste to the doughnut, he'd thrown the evidence away.

He never should have done it to begin with. But once he had, he should have told the truth, admitted his wrong doing. He took it without permission, and they had argued because of it.

Shame was an unpleasant sensation and Castiel vowed to never do anything to cause that feeling again.

____________________________________________________________________

"Disgusting creatures," Uriel said distastefully as they watched Dean try and prevent yet another seal from being opened.

"They are resourceful," Castiel pointed out.

"They are only a few shorts steps above amoebas," Uriel continued.

"They are more than that Uriel," Castiel corrected him gently.

"Few do anything to show glory to the Father, and none blasphemes more than Dean. He should have stayed where he was," Uriel insisted.

Castiel fixed Uriel with a stern gaze. "Dean is not perfect, but our Father created him and called for his release himself. _**Now**_who is blaspheming?"

Uriel looked taken aback. "I am not suggesting…of course, He does not make errors…" he said, and Castiel thought to himself that Dean might call it "babbling" more than speaking.

It was difficult, but he resisted the urge to smile.

____________________________________________________________________

Judging from the sounds, it could not be anything other than disagreeable.

Yet, she smiled when it was over, and invited Dean to spend the night.

It served the purpose of procreation, and the Lord would normally reward this act with creation, allowing them to multiply. However, they did not intend to breed, so why conduct the act at all?

Dean declined the offer of sleeping in her bed, and left to return to his brother in the dingy and ridiculously decorated motel room that they were currently using as shelter.

Castiel remembered then, that he had an Apocalypse to prevent.

____________________________________________________________________

Music is nothing more than sound waves arranged into an intricate pattern.

So Castiel could not imagine why Dean was laying there on the bed, tiny bits of plastic stuffed into his ear canals, enjoying it so very much.

His eyes were closed, and his foot was moving along with the pattern, and he was oblivious to Castiel's presence, even though he made no attempt to hide himself. Dean was lost in the music as if it were a place or a physical experience.

Castiel could hear it and yearned to understand why it was so pleasant.

_Yearning?_

He vowed then that this had to stop. He is an angel of the Lord. He follows the orders of his Father, and that is his sole purpose.

There are no _yearnings_ allowed.

When the music was interrupted by the sound of Dean's ringing telephone, Castiel snapped to attention.

It was then he realized that he'd had his eyes closed.

____________________________________________________________________

"Ungrateful, disrespectful, blasphemous human!" Castiel raged at Dean, who refused to have the decency to looked cowed. Instead, he glared at Castiel defiantly, with a hint of pride at the faults that Castiel had listed out loud.

Castiel raised his hand, intending to give Dean the strike he needed to call him to heel. To come into line, and do the job that he was supposed to do.

He caught himself just in time, and stayed his hand.

Still, Dean looked defiant. Neither the threat of being returned to perdition or being smote with God's wrath would make him cower in defeat.

"You're supposed to follow my orders. 'Daddy' said so," Dean taunted him further.

"You remember this, when the streets run red with blood and Lucifer brings Hell to your kind. You_ remember_ Hell Dean," Castiel reminded in a scathing tone, enjoying the slight flinch Dean gave in response.

Castiel stormed off, contenting himself with muttering insults to himself about Dean Winchester. He had wanted to _hurt_ Dean, and had been successful.

"Mud monkeys. All of them," Uriel told him, when he relayed Dean's plan.

"Maybe you are right about them," Castiel conceded.

"Of course I'm right. Disgusting, messy things," Uriel said distastefully.

When he was alone a few hours later, Castiel felt shame again, about intentionally trying to hurt a human. He sank to his knees in humility, and prayed to understand what was wrong with him.

____________________________________________________________________

Castiel was struck by the idea suddenly and at the oddest time imaginable.

They were at war, Castiel was fighting for his life, and he was struck by an epiphany about Uriel. He fended off his attackers, eventually, and when the battle was over and won, he sought out Uriel.

"You envy them," Castiel said, "That is why you have such anger at mankind. You yearn to be one of them. To taste and feel. Things you cannot experience, so instead, you hate and mock them because they _can_."

"I would never envy…" Uriel began to argue, drawing himself up and looking enraged at Castiel's charges.

"I understand, Uriel," Castiel said gently, placing a hand on Uriel's shoulder. Uriel shrugged him off, and looked at Castiel with hatred.

Castiel did understand; he himself had lashed out at Dean, not because he disagreed with his decisions, but because of envy disguised as anger. Had he continued to envy them, Castiel had no doubt that he would eventually hate them as well.

Hatred is an emotion. Uriel had _feelings_. Deep, strong ones.

Castiel was not the only one who was flawed.

The confirmation of his suspicions immobilized Castiel, and when Uriel shoved him and stormed away, Castiel made no attempt to follow.

Many days later, when Uriel was killed in a battle not won, Castiel reflected on the fact that of all the human emotions for an angel to get a taste of, Uriel only had envy and hatred. Castiel experienced a slight surge of energy, through his core, that shocked him.

He felt _pity_ for Uriel.

____________________________________________________________________

"Why do you do that?" Castiel asked Dean, startling him.

"I seriously need to get you a damn bell," Dean muttered angrily.

"I apologize," Castiel answered quietly, looking down at the ground.

"You? **You** apologize," Dean repeated in disbelief. "What, you got some kind of angel disease?" he then snorted at his own joke, and Castiel raised his gaze to Dean's eyes again.

Dean stopped snorting.

"Why do I do what?" Dean asked then. Castiel recognized the slower, stilted speech pattern. Dean was drunk.

"The gas. In your stomach. You…release it. As loudly as possible. That's called a belch?" Castiel asked.

"You want to know why I burp," Dean stated.

"Yes."

"Uh, it's fun. Plus, Sam can't do it as loud as I can," Dean answered looking at Castiel carefully as he spoke. "So we're down to ten seals, and you're here to talk about burping. Did I get a defective angel, or what?" he asked, looking nervous.

"Stop drinking," Castiel said gently.

"Yeah, I really don't need a lecture," Dean said, walking away and sitting down on the edge of his bed. He picked up the bottle of spirits again, and took a long drink.

Dean hadn't imbibed for a while. Not since the day Castiel watched them in the snow. Today, however, the seal was broken. Dean's plan failed, but he had managed to minimize human casualties far below what Castiel had been prepared to sacrifice.

"You here to say 'I told you so'?" Dean asked him after wiping his lips on his dirty sleeve, looking as if he wanted Castiel to say it.

"No," Castiel answered, watching Dean's face carefully. "I am here to tell you that in exchange for release from your unending agony, you tortured three thousand and two souls in Hell."

Dean's eyes looked down at once, and Castiel watched a wide range of emotion cross over his features. "Thanks for the newsflash Barbara," he said sarcastically after several minutes, his voice thick with emotions that Castiel still couldn't fathom. "But I already knew that."

"I am reminding you, because you seem to forget that sometime after the ninth year, you climbed back onto the rack willingly, and said, 'No more'. That is where I found you. Do you know how many men have done that, Dean?" Castiel asked him.

"No," Dean whispered, voice hoarse.

"Just you."

Dean looked up at him in surprise. "You mean…never…"

"Stop. Drinking," Castiel said softly, "My Father loves you and proclaimed you worthy Dean. When you hate yourself, you call Him a liar and it breaks His heart."

Dean cried silent tears, and Castiel left. On his way out, he heard glass break against the wall.

Castiel left out the part that it broke his as well.  
____________________________________________________________________

War has casualties. Especially the ones that are hard won.

When it is over, he turns his attention to tracking Anael. He finds her easily enough, now that he has given the matter his full attention.

"I would do it again," she says to him, "I **will** do it again."

"I cannot let you-" he said, as he grabbed her and held her still, but she cut him off.

"You cannot imagine what it was like Castiel. The memories fade with every passing day. I have to go back," Anael pleaded.

"I cannot let you go back," Castiel began again, "until you tell me exactly how it is done."

Anael looked at him in surprise.

Then she smiled.

____________________________________________________________________

Castiel was surprised to find out that snow, while it feels cold, doesn't have a taste at all. He often finds that ironic.

He didn't regret it for a second, though, his slow, staggered fall from grace. He has a mother now; he'd chosen her carefully. She wasn't pious, or virtuous, and she barely believed in the Lord. In fact, she chose to cater to the lust of men, taking her clothing off for money, until Castiel came into her life.

Uriel would have hated her. Castiel, now that he can, loves her with all his heart. Even better, she loves him back unconditionally. Even when he questions or doubts her.

He sits at the wooden kitchen table, feet hanging over the edge of his chair and swinging, still too short to touch the floor yet. He loves his fluffy, warm, footed pajamas; they muffle his steps, and if he runs and stops suddenly he can slide across the hard wood floor.

His record is currently four feet and two inches.

He loves those pajamas as much as he loves his other discoveries.

Sleeping, dreaming, hugging, the smell of his mother's light perfume, and the sound of music. He loves them all, but none as much as eating: taste, texture, and the feeling of being sated when he was done. He takes another bite, too large, and he works hard to chew it up properly.

Choking is unpleasant; he's learned that already.

"Slow down, Bobby. You're worse than your father," his mother scolds him, but with a smile and a teasing tone.

"Bobby" laughs, and he loves the sound of it. His uncle walks into the room, followed closely by his father, carrying his baby sister.

Of all the things Castiel discovers that he loves, his sister trumps** everything**. He gets it now, why someone would risk their immortal soul for another. He would do it in a heart beat.

After all, now he has one.

"What's so funny?" his father asks, ruffling his hair as he sits at the table. Castiel doesn't answer because his father's eyes spy his plate now, and as Castiel watches, his eyes light up in delight.

"Pie, awesome."

____________________________________________________________________

_Dean Winchester had been called many things over the years, some flattering and some not so flattering, but Castiel calls him _**father**.

____________________________________________________________________


End file.
